


I fall, I fall, and I forget that I am

by hideyourfires



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Amnesia, Angst, F/M, Memory Loss, Memory Magic, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-09
Updated: 2018-08-09
Packaged: 2019-06-24 03:33:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15621642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hideyourfires/pseuds/hideyourfires
Summary: Eleanor remembers, and forgets.





	I fall, I fall, and I forget that I am

**Author's Note:**

> Title from a poem by Maggie Stiefvater, in her book Ballad:
> 
> We dance, we dance  
> You hold the thread of my soul  
> You spin, you spin  
> And you unravel the part from the whole  
> We laugh, we laugh  
> I'm so far from where I began  
> I fall, I fall, and I forget that I am

“Eleanor,” Asra kneels down in front of her, his fingers ghosting underneath her chin, tilting her face up to meet his gaze. “I’m going away for a few days. It won’t be long and I won’t be far, if you need me. I’ll leave Faust here with you.”

Something stirs in her. Something familiar, but distant. Heat. Not the same kind that tugs at her sometimes, when she looks at him – when he wakes her in the morning, half-dressed and his hair mussed, leaning over her to gently shake her awake – or when he has just bathed, and water droplets still run down his body, and his wet hair is swept back out of his face. No, it’s something to the left of that. “No.”

 _No!_ Faust echoes, her voice small.

“No? No, you don’t want Faust?” He looks at the snake coiled around his arm, who somehow seems to mirror his baffled expression.

The feeling is overwhelming her. It aches. Sharp, twisting into her stomach like a knife. It’s not jealousy; she is familiar with that particular pang. It’s similar, though – bitter and ugly, and it feels a lot like falling in love without the other person waiting, arms outstretched, to catch her.

Eleanor looks down, miserably, at her clenched fists. “Don’t go.”

Asra smiles softly, in a way that says, ‘I see.’ He rests a hand on the top of her head.

“There’s no need to worry. You’ve come a long way, and I’m so proud of you. It might be time you spent a few days alone.”

Alone. She doesn’t like the sound of that. Waking up cold, the bed empty beside her. Silence filling the shop. The absence of his laughter, the warmth of his aura, his comforting touch.

She looks up at him. “Please. Master. Stay.”

His face darkens, and Eleanor knows she has said something wrong. He pulls away from her, eyes drifting to the door.

“Forgive me,” He says, turning away. “I have to go.”

Eleanor stands, plants her feet firm. “ _No_.” The words are like a script. They write themselves, forming their strange shapes in her mouth. “How can you just walk away? And why? You don’t _have_ to go. You don’t _have_ to do _anything_.” The anger in her voice builds as she speaks. She doesn’t know where it’s coming from. It’s not hers, and yet still she feels it; it’s like singing along to a song long forgotten, or feet falling into the steps of a dance years after learning it. It burns in her veins, chars her throat, poisons the words she spits from her lips. “You only do what you want to do, and go where you want to go. That’s who you are, Asra. But it’s not who I am.”

Asra’s eyes are wide. He reaches out to touch her, yet pulls back before his hand makes contact. “Eleanor… I…”

A starburst of pain surges at the centre of Eleanor’s consciousness. It’s blinding, pulsing like an alarm. She clutches her head. There’s the taste of metal in her mouth. “What’s – what’s happening?” She gasps. “Why does it hurt?”

“Eleanor!”

A cool hand takes hold of her arm, rests gently on her face. If she couldn’t hear it in his voice, she can _feel_ it now. It radiates from him like a light, coming off him in waves.

“Asra – help me – it hurts,” She cries out. She clutches at him, blindly, desperately. She can feel him, her nails digging into his flesh – but she is somewhere else. Alone. Calling out, voice broken, no one listening. She’s in pain. _It hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it_ –––––

“Just breathe.” Asra’s voice cuts through her thoughts, panic ringing out despite his calming words. “Breathe, like we practiced. Clear your mind.”

The pain bursts behind her eyes, an explosion of images, everything everything _everything_ at once. Eleanor is broken. That is all. She is dying – or is she dead? Asra is leaving. Asra is gone. Asra is standing in front of her.

His eyes are wide and afraid, searching her face. There are tears running down his cheeks. “Eleanor?”

He’s here. At last, he’s here.

She smiles, reaches up, brushes the tears from his cheek. “Why did you go, Asra?” She whispers. “I missed you.”

And then her eyes glass over, empty, and she falls silent.

Asra shakes her, gently. “Eleanor?” She is loose in his grasp, a rag doll. “ _Eleanor_!”

She hears him. Feels his hands on her arms, feels him pull her close. Tear drops hitting her neck. His sobbing, reverberating in his chest. He draws her in, holds her, whispers apologies into her skin.

Then he draws himself away. He places his hands on either side of her face, and says, “Forget.”

His hands are cold against her skin. It seems to reach inside her mind, cooling her thoughts until it is all she can feel. It takes her over, completely, and soon there is nothing but a barren wasteland of ice, a tundra, a blanket of white over the jagged shapes underneath.

Eleanor blinks.

Asra is looking at her, intently, his hands cupping her face. His cheeks are wet. It worries her, to see him so upset.

“Master?” She says, peering at him. “You look sad. Is something wrong?”

Asra seems to exhale in relief, the tension sliding from his shoulders. He smiles at her, wide and wobbly. “No, everything is fine. I’m happy, see?”

He is crying. Crying is sad. Eleanor wants to tell him this, but perhaps she is wrong. Emotions can be so confusing.

His thumb brushes her cheekbone, and she leans into his touch. “Are you alright?”

“Yes,” She answers, almost automatically. After all, Asra is here, and standing so close to her. His touch, his attention, the proximity of his face and hers – it’s making her blush. Now she thinks about it, though, she does feel a little odd. Muzzy. She touches a hand to her temple. “No. My head. It feels… funny.”

Asra nods. It seems he had expected this. “I won’t go, then. I’ll stay right here, Eleanor.” His hands drop from her face, and he takes up her hands instead. “I’ll stay right here, with you.”

Eleanor frowns, confused. “You were going somewhere?”

He smiles, but there’s a touch of sadness to it.

“Not anymore,” He says, and brings one of her hands to his lips.


End file.
